<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>bridge that gap just further by kousanoes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767562">bridge that gap just further</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kousanoes/pseuds/kousanoes'>kousanoes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Moon Land (Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, the relation b/w mitsu &amp; sakura is actually v small ngl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:02:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>731</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767562</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kousanoes/pseuds/kousanoes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“You could say he’s like a delicate machine, and all of the parts are balanced with extreme precision. If one gear falls out of place, it’s not easy to put back.” —Apollo Mamiya, chapter 56. </p>
</blockquote>For the first time in years, Mitsu misses the bar.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amahara Mitsuki &amp; Dogase Sakura</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bridge that gap just further</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title is from Shyer by London Grammar. this was originally written 14/05/20. if you haven't read Moon Land and yet somehow still found yourself here, please do go read it :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s easy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once he places his hands in the chalk, once he sets his hands on the apparatus—be it a bar or a pommel or a ring—the world dissolves around him. For that, he is thankful to Shu; without him, he would still be crouching outside of Sumida’s gym. Now, he gets to feel the weight of his own body in the air, feel the strain of his muscles, the exertion, the tension.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s easy to let his thoughts wash away, to be free; it’s easy to lose himself in the motions his body has long memorized. Whether it is practice or competition, it doesn’t matter. He can let himself indulge, just for a second, in his interests and can trust his existence. He can let himself be selfish. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That selfishness is what allows him to pursue gymnastics in Toda, to pursue Sakura’s gymnastics, to pursue victory and perfection. Perhaps he is the strange one, when he says the victory isn’t for him. Perhaps he is the strange one, when they ask him what he thinks when he performs, and he says his mind is nothing but a blank canvas, an empty ocean, the vastness that is space. Perhaps he is the strange one, when he does not concern himself with nerves and competition pressure. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he’s just indulging himself, and that’s OK: they said so, after all. He isn’t the same child he used to be; no, he’s grown up. He can trust in himself, he can trust in his love for the sport. He can trust in his love for freedom. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the team asks him to perform the way he always does, it’s easy. He complies. He closes his eyes, exhales, and places his hands on the horizontal bar. The world darkens around him, leaving nothing but him and the moon. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knows, instinctively, which way his body will turn, will propel, will fall. He knows how much strength it takes to do so, and he knows the distance from his fingertips to the bar. He floats midair for a split second and then the bar is under his palms, steady and sturdy. It doesn’t cave under his weight, not when he swings and turns and stands atop of it all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A headstand is the position that lets him feel the freest. There, he hangs upright, arms and core supporting him for as long as he wishes. Then his hands turn with his body, and he swings downward to let go, to fly again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he comes back, his arms reach out, yearning for the bar once more. It’s there, it’s just beneath his fingertips, his palms—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>until it isn’t. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now he is on the ground, staring above at the unblinking moon. There is a man tugging at his arm, and he stumbles upright. He is helped up back onto the bar, but it’s different. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s different, even when he goes through the same motions: a turn here, a twist there. It’s not as free. The bar is clammy underneath his palms and there is a weight tugging him down. The bar isn’t there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bar isn’t there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t matter if the apparatus changes each time he competes, it doesn’t matter if he needs to adjust. The bar isn’t there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gets up as many times as he needs to, in order to resurface after this drowning. He twists and pushes himself off the bar—how many times has it been? how many times has he fallen? how many times has the bar not been there?—but each time he tries he sinks in deeper. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’ll try again. He’s got to. It should be there. The bar should be there, but it isn’t. He sets his shoulders and is seconds away from letting go when he hears it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A piercing voice cuts through the darkness, through the ice keeping him down under—“Hang in there, Mitsu!”—and it brings him back up just for the moment. The moment is long enough, however, to startle him into recalculating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hands grab hold of the bar—it is there, finally—and his body carries him the rest of the way through. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But when he’s back on the ground, he finds himself slipping back into the depths. It’s not easy. He can't forget falling; he can't reaching out for something that isn't there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s back at square one.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come talk to me on <a href="https://kousanoes.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>